The Mechanic and The Henchman
by Renflower21
Summary: Shaft had always been both enamored with and frustrated by his boss, Graham Specter. But he never expected it to end up like this. Graham x Shaft. Warning: Another Junk Railroad spoilers.
1. A Strange Affection

"Boss Graham? You in here?"

With a heave, Shaft pushed to close the warehouse door behind him, fighting the might of the winter wind that tried to force it open. When it clicked shut, he leaned back against the wall and took several deep breaths. He lifted a trembling hand up and wiped his face, which was damp from the snowfall outside. His purple jacket, dusted with snow, glittered beneath the fluorescent lights of the warehouse, and the white clumps that had clung to his boots began to melt and stain the floor. Atop his disheveled locks of hair, he'd pulled his purple cap low over his face, which had numbed during his walk over. Entering the warehouse provided little relief from the cold, as the room stood at the same near-zero temperature as the outside.

"Someone forget to pay the heating bill in here?" Shaft asked, though he'd received no answer from Graham after his first question. It was more rhetorical than anything, though. He suspected Graham had once more let the financial upkeep of their meeting place fall by the wayside, which occurred anytime the man became distracted when entrusted with mundane tasks. It was exactly why Shaft had tried to maneuver himself into gaining responsibility over such aspects of their group.

Shaft let out a sigh. A full minute had passed and he'd heard none of Graham's chattering. The quiet alone was enough to tell him there was no way the man was in the warehouse. He'd never known his boss to go more than thirty seconds without spouting some incessant nonsense. Shaft swore under his breath. He'd been given a courier task that morning, and Graham had instructed him to return to the warehouse once he'd finished. With a glance at his watch, the man determined that he was likely several hours later than expected, as it was just past two in the morning, but unavoidable complications had arisen during his time out. And he'd assumed the orders still stood. That was mostly because if he didn't assume so and was wrong, he'd likely receive a wrench to the stomach, a wholly unpleasant punishment.

Blinking in an effort to force his eyes to adjust to the shift from the outdoor darkness to the artificial lighting in the warehouse, Shaft walked towards the center of the room, hands stuck in his pocket. Perhaps Graham had left him a note? It seemed improbable that the erratic boss would think to do something so rational, but it was worth checking. He scanned the area, all while wondering whether or not he should just return to his shoddy apartment for the night. Three days until Christmas, he noted without emotion, and it looked like he'd be spending it either holed up in his cheap residence or listening to Graham's rambles. Oh well, he thought, perhaps one of his other vessels would have a more interesting holiday, though this one was usually his favorite.

Suddenly, his musings halted, and he stopped walking and stood still. Was that breathing he heard? His eyes narrowed and shot towards the source of the sound, faint but distinct to his sharp ears. It seemed to originate from behind the stack of boxes near the left-most wall. In reflex, his lips tightened and his demeanor changed entirely. His face was a blank slate save for a sharp alertness, a readiness to attack. His muscles wound tight, prepared to spring if necessary, and he carried himself with steady shoulders and a rigid posture, confident and fearless. His fingers curled around a small knife stashed in his pocket. Unconsciously, the possibility of danger had brought about the true face of Sham, of the shrewd homunculus behind Shaft's persona.

"Who's there?" He barked, as he approached the source of the noise. He withdrew the knife from his pocket and rounded the corner to confront the wide space between the boxes and the wall. But as soon as it came into view, he froze.

After just a second, the traces of malice flooded from his face and he slipped back on the discontented weariness that was standard for the Shaft persona. It was strange to him, how the transformation felt less like putting on a mask, and more akin to slipping on a natural second skin. His hands slipped back into his pockets and his shoulders hunched. He shook his head, a frown cutting across his expression.

"There you are." He muttered.

Curled up on the concrete floor, Graham Specter had fallen asleep, his favorite wrench on the ground inches beside him. He must have found a pillow somewhere around the building, because his head rested atop one. His blond muss of hair spread against the pillow, but left his face relatively unconcealed.

Shaft deduced that his boss might have fallen asleep while waiting for his return. Either that, or he'd been around the warehouse for some arbitrary reason or another and had decided simply to sleep on the ground once he grew tired. With Graham, it could have been either with equal likelihood. It was not the first time Shaft had nearly stumbled over a passed out Graham, who'd apparently decided the middle of the floor made a perfect bed. On one particular occasion, Shaft had arrived at his apartment to find the locks dismantled on the ground, his boss sprawled out across his carpet.

As he did whenever he came across a sleeping Graham and others were not present, Shaft took a moment to study his boss's face. It was interesting to him, how different the man's face looked in that state. Graham's facial muscles were slack, making his skin appear smoother, younger. His lips parted just a centimeter, the only sound coming out the light breathing that matched with the slight rise and fall of his body. His form stayed still, except for a small shivering from the temperature. Such moments were the only time Shaft saw his boss in a manner that even slightly resembled peacefulness. Shaft enjoyed the study of contrasts, the range of the other man's emotions and related appearance. During his boss's slumber was also the only time Shaft could look upon Graham with appreciation without the fear of being randomly injured tainting the admiration.

It was not that Shaft particularly _liked_ his boss. No, that would be too simple, too utterly typical. The man was a great source of frustration and pain (especially physically) for his right-hand man. And yet, as a person, Graham was fascinating. The combination of competence and instability, the strange conflict between his need to destroy and his avoidance of murder, the absolute unpredictability of any of his actions or words - Graham was a remarkable study. Sham had observed many people between his numerous vessels, and as a whole, he found humans to be droll and disposable. Some were more useful than others for his purposes, but aside from that, he saw little distinction between individual people.

And then there was Graham. There was a man besides Master Huey who finally caught his interest, whom he found himself _enjoying_ observing. Shaft did not even begrudge him the ailments imposed at his service, for it was just those frustrations that made Graham appeal to his interest. And it gave him a new subject of study as well - the conflict between his like and his dislike for the man. The emotion resembled affection, with all its warmth and lightness, but with the heavy undercurrents of aggravation and exhaustion. He could not pin a name to the feeling, despite his range of human experiences. All he knew was that it lent him a certain, strange attachment to the man.

It was out of this affection, out of this attachment, that Shaft found himself taking off his coat. He knelt beside the sleeping man and covered Graham's body with the jacket, figuring it'd provide a bit of heat, at least. The urge to do so was an almost automatic reaction to seeing his boss laying on the hard ground, with nothing but his blue uniform to shield him from the biting cold. Shaft was unwilling to think too deeply into why he felt so compelled to assist, choosing instead to simply act in accordance.

He smiled a tad as Graham immediately took to the new blanket. The man clutched at it and pulled it closer to his body, the trembling ceasing. On a whim, Shaft patted a hand over Graham's hair, finding the tresses as soft as he'd imagined. Shaft did not have to worry about waking his boss; Graham was the heaviest sleeper he'd met, nothing able to perturb him when he was tied up in slumber. Once more, he shook his head.

"I don't understand you, Graham Specter." He commented. "It's as if you want to freeze to death. I do not know what you'd do without me."

Then, Shaft stood up and brushed off the dust from the ground that had spread across the bottom of his trousers. As he sighed, he could see the white mist of own breath in front of his face. He folded his arms across his chest as the cold began to hit him, easily cutting through the thin fabric of his shirt.

With a last glance at Graham, he turned back and walked out of the warehouse. There was no point in trying to wake the boss that night. Still, he frowned as he realized he would not be returning to his apartment that night. Competent as Graham was, Shaft still did not like leaving the sleeping man alone in an unguarded warehouse. It looked like he'd be spending the night in his car outside, where it was marginally warmer than the building. After a long day of travelling, he now had to try to relax in the back of a cramped vehicle, in the cold, with no jacket or pillow, all because of a regard for Graham that went far beyond his job description. All for the sake of a man who gleefully caused him pain on a regular basis. For a strange affection that he was still leagues away from rationalizing.

Yes, some days, Shaft had to wonder which one of them had truly lost their mind.

* * *

Author's Note: Hello, and thank you for reading! Let me give a brief synopsis of how I'm writing this fic: It's going to start out more like a series of one-shots, and then I plan to gradually move it into a more linear narrative. That's because these started off as one-shots before I decided to turn it into a story, and that's why there won't be a whole lot of connections between chapters at first. Anyway, I adore this pairing - and Sham/Shaft's character in general - and I hope you enjoy reading!


	2. A Perfect Gift

All Shaft wanted for Christmas was Graham Specter.

More specifically, he wanted a Graham who stayed quiet and let him go through one whole day without being whacked with a wrench or dragged into some half-baked scheme that left everyone involved exhausted. He knew the wish was a long-shot, but there came no harm in entertaining the idle fantasy. After all, he kept no close friends or contacts with this vessel, and he obviously had no family to occupy his time for the holidays. It wasn't as if Master Huey or Hilton truly counted as family members, let alone ones who'd pay any mind to the coming of Christmas. And Graham? He'd be surprised if his boss even remembered it was a holiday. So Shaft expected to receive no gifts, and in turn, he purchased no presents to give out. Instead, he made the singular wish to that fictitious bearer of gifts, half to amuse himself, half out of some vain hope.

In retrospect, while there was nothing wrong with harboring the futile desire, he _probably_ shouldn't have made a comment about it to Graham. He hadn't thought it through; the words just slipped out when Graham posed some nonsensical question about their holiday wishes. Amused, the underling had forgotten himself for a second. It'd earned him the usual wallop to the gut, and Graham had been running him harder than usual ever since.

A few days after the incident, Christmas morning arrived, and Shaft awoke in his empty apartment feeling as if it was any other day. He'd trudged through his morning routine, spending an extra half-hour letting the shower pour hot water over his aching body. The last job Graham assigned him had proved more physically laborious than expected, especially when an unexpected conflict arose with a group of thugs. Though a skilled fighter, Sham sometimes wished he'd picked a stronger body for this vessel. He was usually quite fond of it, to the point that it felt more like a natural form than any of his others. When he looked in the mirror, it actually felt like he saw himself staring back, with no sensation of disconnect. It alleviated the drawbacks of his form, but moments such as this reminded him acutely of his imperfections. Strange, Sham thought, that even though the imperfections weren't "Shaft's" fault, they still sent a tremor through the body's stomach that he recognized as insecurity.

Once Shaft had dressed in his usual attire, he shrugged on a thicker overcoat and pulled on his favorite hat. A glance at the window revealed a flurry of snow whipping around outside, and the glass pane rattled as a gust of wind slammed into it. At the sight, Shaft grabbed a knit scarf and wrapped it around his neck, covering up half of his face. That should prepare him for the outdoors. He preferred to avoid such freezing conditions, but Shaft had a _routine_. Every morning, he'd go out and purchase a large cup of black tea and a fresh-baked muffin from one of the cafes on his block. It'd be easy enough for him to just buy the means to make both himself, but Shaft liked the solace of a regular pattern, and then he could purchase a newspaper while he was out. Plus, he enjoyed the bit of normalcy in interacting with the barista or clerk. Sometimes, it could be the only sane person he talked to for days. And it was liberating to allow his true persona to speak to another person every now and then. So he would not deviate from the usual, even if it was Christmas.

The price he paid was that it took an extra thirty minutes to find a place open at that hour on a holiday morning. Shaft scoffed as he fought the cold to get back into his apartment building - all that, and the tea wasn't even decent quality. He shook out the slush on his boots as he walked up the stairs to get to his floor, and tried to wipe the snow from his coat as well, but most of it had melted already. Even though the temperature inside settled the interior into a comfortable warmth, Shaft shivered as his body took its time recovering from the cold. He was in the middle of drinking his tea for its heat when he arrived at his apartment door and froze in his tracks.

Shining up from the ground, his steel apartment-door lock laid dismantled in tiny pieces. Slowly, Shaft lowered his cup of tea from his lips, staring at the ground. His left eye twitched as he forced back the familiar ache of frustration that pushed at his skin from the inside out. He pushed a hand against his temple, and he closed his eyes as the first throb of a headache hit him.

_'Graham.'_

It wasn't the first time he'd come home to this very sight. Last time, he had to spend an entire week's salary replacing the lock. It wasn't as if he could ask Graham for compensation after all. Shaft was lucky if the man actually remembered to pay him in the first place. And to top it all off, when he'd entered the apartment last time, Graham told him that he'd forgotten why he even stopped by. Not that it stopped his boss from staying for _hours_ anyway.

'_One day. I asked for _one _day.'_

Shaft considered turning right around and walking out, hoping that if he kept busy long enough, Graham would forget his purpose and leave. But he suspected that would end up the more painful option, in the long run. Besides, it wasn't that he hated spending time with Graham. Quite the contrary - it was often the most interesting point of his day. He walked away from their outings together with a curious mixture of exhilaration, fascination, and irritation that left his heart both heavy and pounding for hours afterwards. With some difficulty, Shaft categorized the sensation as 'pleasant'. But one such experience with Graham was enough to sap several days' worth of energy from him. And did he complain about it? No. Not excessively, at least. He _deserved _a day of recuperation.

Frowning, Shaft pushed open the loose apartment door and walked inside, braced for the worst shenanigans he could imagine. Ever the pessimist, the worst scenarios flashed through his mind. He pictured his furniture laying in individual pieces, which he'd never be able to put back together. He imagined Graham standing there, wrench _thwak-_ing against his palm, ready to punish Shaft for some arbitrary error. But when he registered the strange sight in front of him, it was nowhere near the scenarios he'd come up with.

Inside, sitting in the middle of the carpet, Graham had wrapped a long, red satin ribbon around his body. It coiled up over his blue jumpsuit, circled his neck, and wrapped tight around his mouth, where he'd tied it off.

"B-boss Graham?" Shaft stuttered.

Upon seeing his subordinate enter, Graham's eyes lit up and his smile pushed against the red restraint. His lips moved as if he was trying to say something, but the words came out as a muffled conglomeration of sound. As if catching himself, the man slapped a hand over his mouth, stifling whatever he was trying to say further.

Shaft stared at his boss for a moment, unable to process what he'd found. It took a minute, but eventually, understanding dawned on him.

_'He took me seriously. The lunatic took what I said literally.'_

He tilted his head forward so that a shadow concealed his eyes, and the edge of his lips twitched. The stress creases on his face deepened, as he tried to figure out how to feel about this. On one hand, Graham had _completely _misunderstand what Shaft really wanted. And in doing so, the wish that should have brought him peace, actually increased the frustration of the holiday. In that regard, Shaft disliked the turn of events greatly.

And yet - Shaft laid a hand over his chest. Beneath his palm, his heart palpitated. His breath caught in his throat at first, but then his breathing deepened to compensate for his spiking pulse. Paralyzed, his eyes could not move away from Graham's. His boss's eyes gleamed with a brilliant shade of blue, like the pure and clear summer sky. Regardless of whatever madness Graham harbored, there shone a genuineness the likes of which Shaft had never seen in a person before. The deceptions and mutilation of character normal people imposed on themselves, Graham held no concept of. For a being who'd committed every crime of deceit possible, the authenticity captured Shaft, dominated by a feeling part-shame and part-awe that he couldn't name. Whatever the outcome, Graham hadn't _meant _to cause Shaft inconvenience. He hadn't meant to bestow any pain or frustration - this time, at least. He'd _actually_ thought the stunt would make Shaft happy, and he'd gone out of his way to do it. In that regard, Shaft liked Graham's actions deeply.

"Boss Graham, when I told you what I wanted, I didn't _really_ mean - that is -" Shaft stumbled, trying to figure out how to make things right.

He was cut off by a stream of muffled words from his boss. Though he couldn't distinguish the actual words, he could tell it was an angry response. Shaft dropped his bag from the cafe onto the ground, placed his cup of tea on a nearby table, and held up one hand to calm his boss. Last thing he needed was for this to turn violent, like he'd first feared.

"Wait, wait, I didn't mean it that way. Boss, I just didn't think you'd actually, you know, _do _this." Shaft said. "I-I appreciate it, really."

Graham didn't seem to understand the 'quiet' part of whatever it was he'd tried to accomplish, because he kept chattering away beneath the gag. Shaft supposed that was why he'd used the ribbon in the first place, because he was physically incapable of keeping his mouth shut for more than ten seconds. As the man tried to speak, Shaft walked over and sat down in front Graham, his long legs pulled close to his body. A thought struck him. He tilted his head, looking at his boss with a serious expression.

"But, Boss, I'm surprised because I didn't expect you to be here. I mean, don't you have people to spend Christmas with? Like, family or something? Someone you're close to?" Shaft asked

He knew Graham had a sister, at least, but realized he didn't know anything else about the man's family. He didn't even know if they existed, or if they lived in the city, or anything. Shaft wondered if Graham never talked about it, or if he just tuned him out whenever he did. Whatever the answer, Graham's eyes fell to the floor for a second after the question, and he shook his head.

"Oh, I -"

Before Shaft could finish, Graham's head snapped up and he jabbed a finger into his chest. Shaft flinched, his body tensing, at the sudden gesture. Though it was difficult to understand beneath the ribbon, he could make out the loudest word Graham had uttered: "_You."_

At that, the underling realized exactly what Graham meant. For the majority of the day, every day, Shaft and Graham were together. Granted, most of the time was spent on work-related tasks and expeditions, but at the core of it, the two's days revolved entirely around each other. Shaft never thought much of it, because he found personal relations superfluous, and thus the implication didn't cross his radar. He never realized that Graham might consider him a close friend, or anything other than a subordinate, really. But not only was he the person who spent the most time with Graham, Shaft was also the sole subordinate, maybe the sole person, who actually listened to the man's rants and engaged him on a daily basis. Graham had come to his apartment not out of some inane lunacy, but because Shaft was the closest person in his life. And he'd wanted to give that person the only thing he'd expressed a desire for that holiday, albeit in his insane interpretation.

Shaft felt a wave of shame wash over him, wincing as his heart plummeted. He looked down at the carpet and his stomach churned as if he was ill. Was this truly what he'd wanted? To have his closest friend's definitive characteristic stricken away? To tell him he was imperfect, make him feel inadequate to be near unless he changed? Oh, Shaft knew Graham didn't think of it in those terms, but that's what it was. He couldn't even claim this wasn't _really_ what he wanted, because in its purest representation, wasn't the image before him exactly what he'd asked for?

Reaching forward, Shaft hooked one finger under the red ribbon that started at Graham's hip. He traced the fabric the length of his boss's body, every inch of it another ounce of guilt on his shoulders.

_'It'd be more appropriate to string this around me. A scarlet ribbon to symbolize my sins. It does not suit him. It is not fair that he should shoulder the burdens of my sins.'_

How could he let the man know he'd been wrong? The reason Graham struck his interest laid in the very aspect he'd bound. Shaft grit his teeth. He hated admitting he'd been incorrect. When the finger he'd slid along the ribbon reached the end, reached Graham's mouth, he untied the knot and freed Graham's lips. He'd been too thoughtless to get a gift for Graham, but he could give him this much.

"I'm sorry, boss. I wasn't being serious back when I said that back then. I know I act annoyed a lot around you, but I really do think you're, ah," Shaft had to force out the next word, "perfect just the way you are. But I appreciate the gift."

Graham leaned forward and threw his arms around Shaft's neck. Flailing backward from the sudden weight, Shaft held his arms out awkwardly as he scrambled to figure out what to do with them. Finally, calling on observance rather than experience, he wrapped them around his boss's waist and rested his hands against the man's back. The shorter man buried his head in the crook of Shaft's shoulder, and Graham's long tresses swept against his cheek. When Shaft inhaled, he noticed Graham smelled like a mix of motor oil, grease, and freshly cut grass.

"Oh thank God, I was wondering how much longer I'd have to suffer such a terrible, terrible fate. What a stirring speech you gave, Shaft, but I'm sure you want to know how I came to decide to come here like this, right? And how I got in without your noticing? Well, let me tell you, I almost didn't make it in time - ah, what a sad, sad story that is, you see, I -"

Though the rush of nonsense from his companion brought on a headache, just the sound of the words coming from Graham's mouth brought a smile to Shaft's face. He moved on hand up and cradled the back of his boss's head, lightly pushing his head further against his skin, so as to stifle some of the noise of the chatter without Graham noticing. He stopped the attempt, though, when he felt the hot tickle of the man's breath against his skin, a sensation that sent a shiver up his spine and warmth across his face.

Interrupting his thoughts, Graham pulled back. The abrupt movement made Shaft's body jerk as his muscles tensed. He didn't have time to hide the red that splashed across his cheeks. His heart seized with panic as he bowed his head forward, trying to hide his reaction.

_'Why am I so worried? This does not make sense.'_

Shaft cursed his companion for evoking the uncomfortable physical sensation. At the same time, the reaction seemed to reinforce his affection for the man. The conflict between his fondness and his frustration only deepened his blush, only catalyzed the speed of his pulse further. Anxiety tearing at his body, his natural reaction to not being in control of any situation, beads of perspiration dampened Shaft's forehead.

Fortunately, Graham did not show any signs of noticing. Continuing with his spiel, Graham said, "So now I'm left with the question - now that you've so cruelly destroyed my first gift, how am I supposed to show my affection for you? Perhaps _you _can be fine without giving anyone a gift, but I can't come to you empty-handed. How tedious! Shaft, tell me, what am I to do?"

Shaft's eye twitched, as he kept his smile carefully in place. How had he gone so quickly to being the villain in Graham's story? Best not to dwell on it.

"Ah, boss? You don't have to do anything. Your last gift still counts."

"That won't do. Damn it! Shaft, you are hopeless at the holiday, aren't you? I don't have anything on me to give to you. So I guess I will just have to give you the one thing I _do _have, don't I? Ah, yes, this may turn out to be a happy story, after all." Graham rambled.

Shaft raised an eyebrow, not understanding what the man was getting at. "Yeah, Boss? And what exactly are you - ack!"

Midsentence, Shaft had been cut off - by Graham planting a sudden kiss upon his lips.

Shaft's eyes widened, too stunned to think to close them. He swore every inch of his skin burned, every nerve lining his lips igniting to life. He wasn't supposed to do this. _Sham _wasn't supposed to do this. It went against every fiber of his being, of the rigid rules and expectations he'd set for himself.

But all that disappeared, for a second, as if his mind had been obliterated entirely. And for a second, he lost his other consciousness, his constant worries, his exhaustion, all wiped into a blank state of where there was only the rush of adrenaline and endorphins, the entirety of Graham's being enmeshed with his own. For once, the tension deep in his bones dissipated, and he let his body relax. For once, he let a sensation akin to happiness lighten his soul, and he neither questioned nor fretted over it.

And then it was over. And he was staring into Graham's eyes, unable to move or speak. The situation was unprecedented; Shaft had no idea what the proper response could be. He comprehended the delicacy of the situation, knew that the slightest wrong move could turn the situation sour - or worse, reveal the depths of Sham's treacherous deceit. Tension saturated the air around them, so heavy that it almost choked him.

Then, Graham shattered it with a laugh. "What's wrong, Shaft? You have to learn not to worry so much, or you'll make yourself an old man. And that means you'll have all kinds of health problems. And then I'll have to visit you in a hospital bed, perhaps there to take your dying words! Can you imagine a sadder -"

Shaft cut him off by pulling the man close against his body so that Graham's face pressed into his chest, and his words muffled. Relief coursed through his body as he realized that, whatever he'd done, nothing had really changed between them. He clutched the fabric of the back of Graham's jumpsuit, the fabric soft beneath his hand. With his other hand, he traced the remaining part of the ribbon that ran across Graham's back. He slid his fingers beneath the strip of the ribbon. Shaft thought it appropriate to reflect what ended up being the ribbon's true purpose - not to bind Graham's mouth, but rather, to bind the two together.

As his boss continued to ramble, Shaft muttered a weary confession, more to himself than anyone.

"Merry Christmas, Graham. You are exactly what I wanted."

* * *

A/N: Christmas chapter! Thanks for reading.


	3. Keep You Safe

It wasn't supposed to happen like this.

Shaft kneeled and cradled his boss in his arms, pressing his hands against the man's gaping wound. As he administered pressure to stem the bleeding, he tried to pinpoint where he'd gone wrong.

They'd been carrying out a simple plan, nothing they hadn't done a hundred times before. So typical, in fact, that only Shaft and Graham had gone. They planned to perform a shakedown on a few new delinquents that had infringed on the Russo turf, to extort a large fee and maybe inflict a few injuries courtesy of Graham's wrench. By all accounts, the delinquents were an ill-composed group, and Shaft thought it'd be an easy job. In fact, he'd actually maneuvered Graham _towards_ accepting the task. Normally, Shaft wasn't fond of doing anything to benefit the Russo don, but he had another stake in the matter. The group had caused trouble for another couple of Sham's vessels, and he calculated that their subduing would make several of his other operations less difficult. In the end, Shaft had provided the push for Graham to make a move on the thugs.

Did that make this mess his fault? After all, Graham had made some major mistakes as well. He'd pressed the delinquents harder than necessary, making threats more grandiose than the situation warranted. He'd struck the group's leader before they'd even started to protest the conditions of the extortion. When Shaft sensed danger, had noticed an out-of-place complicity amongst the thugs, Graham ignored his urgent warning. And when another bunch of criminal showed up, Graham refused to retreat, instead attacking straight on without evaluating the threat level. As always, Graham proved to be the one element Sham could neither predict nor control, and while this acted as a source of fascination for the otherwise keen manipulator, the flip-side of its allure was its potential for fatal havoc.

And yet. Shaft glanced up at the approaching thugs. It didn't matter if Graham was a variable beyond his ability to predict. Because _these_ guys weren't. He could have foreseen their involvement. He _should _have. He could excuse Graham's ignorance; the man was, for all his abnormality, still only human. But Sham transcended that, and as such, he held himself to higher standards. With his abilities, he had the potential to see all, to know all, to predict all. But this wasn't part of the plan. This, he hadn't foreseen. He'd failed, and now he suffered the deserved repercussions of his error.

_'This vessel was supposed to keep you under control and secure.'_

In his arms, Graham had passed out after taking a couple bullets from their attackers. The sheer wreckage in the room revealed the intensity of the fight from Graham's side, but a stroke of bad timing had felled him. After a quick assessment, Shaft determined they were relatively non-serious wounds, but the pain and shock evidently took out his boss. As the man could withstand great amounts of pain, he could only imagine how much damage the bullets must have wreaked on his nerves to cause such an effect. His boss's pale face contorted in agony and then went lax. Shaft watched as the blood spread between his fingers, staining his skin crimson. He could not tear his eyes from Graham's wound.

_'I was supposed to keep you safe.'_

What use was his power if it couldn't grant him that simple purpose? He could not identify the group of men that assailed the two, which meant either they kept secretive enough to justify falling outside his intelligence network, or his network had weakened beyond his ability to make excuses. While the second possibility wasn't entirely his fault - after all, he'd had a good amount of his vessels eliminated lately - Sham couldn't say he was blameless, either. He hadn't been vigilant enough. He'd been careless. Had it been arrogance that caused this? Perhaps he'd picked up more from Master Huey than he'd thought.

And now the cost bled in his arms. Without thinking, Shaft turned Graham so that the man's face leaned against his chest and held tight, as if it could provide a form of comfort. The thought of his boss in pain caused him extreme discomfort, his heart aching as if a nail had been driven into its tissue. For a moment, the reaction confused him. Sham knew he did not want to lose such an interesting person, did not want to cease being able to observe and experience the company of the strange character. But Shaft failed to understand why that elicited a _physical_ reaction in his body. Or perhaps he did, but could not bring himself to acknowledge it. The situation jumbled his thoughts, so that he could not keep focus.

A shot rang out, and Shaft whipped one arm to shield Graham's head and block the bullet's path. The metal tore through his flesh and muscle, shattering a bone and sending agony through his nerves, stopping only to lodge in his forearm. He winced, and a cry caught in his throat. For a second, his mind went hazy, as the pain threatened to thwart his control. But it passed, and Shaft maintained control. He had to maintain - there was no other option. It was the entire core of Sham's being; the minute he succumbed, the minute he forfeited his immense level of control - he lost.

Another shot, and this time, he angled his shoulder to bear the anguish. Anger flashed across his expression, one eye squeezing shut as the other widened in fury. These criminals would not take Graham's life. Just the thought of it elicited a protective rage he did not know he harbored. He detested the pain being shot caused, and the agony made his stomach turn and threaten to purge itself, but the loss of the vessel's life itself, Sham did not fear. Bodily death did not frighten him. It was nothing he had not experienced hundreds of times before.

However, he found he did not want to lose this form. If Shaft lost his life, then he'd be unable to keep associating with Graham. True, he could take another vessel of proximity to the man, but it wouldn't be the same. The relationship they forged would be lost. The event would distress Shaft greatly. And yet, despite his desire to hold onto Shaft's vessel, that wasn't what drove him. Rather, Shaft knew on an innate level, without rationalizing and without true understanding, that he did not care about protecting himself. Right now, all that mattered was protecting the life of Graham Specter.

_'I don't want to lose you. That's all I know. That's all that matters._'

He had to act quickly, as any more hesitation would cost him a more serious injury. The bleeding wounds on his own body should have rendered him poor condition, but his mental fortitude steeled against the threat of unconsciousness. This time, he could not afford a weak constitution.

With reluctance, Shaft let go of his boss, being gentle as he laid him upon the floor. The move elicited protest from every part of him, naturally rejecting the notion of leaving Graham injured and alone. But he'd rather keep his boss alive than comfortable, so he pushed past it. He leapt to his feet and avoided an incoming bullet by a hair. At least he wouldn't have to worry about feigning ineptitude in front of Graham, with the man unconscious.

With the attention drawn onto himself, Shaft didn't have to worry about shielding Graham, either. The assaulting men had trained their weapons on him, and he had the distinct sense of a condemned man standing before his firing squad. Their silence told Shaft that they aimed for elimination, rather than detainment. Which meant negotiation was out of the question, an unfortunate occurrence, as that was Sham's specialty. Still, he trained for the worst circumstances as well. He would not go down without a fight.

Pulling a knife from his pocket, he ran towards the left-most assailant, whom he'd gauged to be the least competent of the group. He'd have preferred a handgun, but for whatever reason, Graham did not approve of his henchmen utilizing such weaponry. Another quirk that Shaft failed to understand, that pulled at his curiosity. Another eccentricity he did not want to see extinguished from the world.

As he launched his attack, he clamped his jaw tight and narrowed his eyes, forcing the worry from his face. Any faltering would only encourage the thugs, empower them. He understood enough psychology to know the importance of keeping a dominant facade against an enemy. When he breached half of the distance, he dodged to the left, foreseeing the shots the men fired. After a couple more feet, another bullet grazed his hip, but he did not slow any. Their expressions revealed utter confidence, one outright smirking at his advance. After all, the knife in Shaft's hands bore no special qualities, and his skill with it could not take on multiple guns. Of course they'd be confident, even mocking. Because they didn't know.

_Bang-bang-bang!_

They didn't know it had only been a distraction tactic.

The shots came from behind the group of thugs, and one by one, they dropped their weapons and slumped onto the ground, blood pouring from their torso. One reached to grab his gun, hoping for one last shot, but a bullet tore through the air and struck his head, sending fragments of his skull flying. Shaft halted, his knife slipping out of his hands, and he held a hand over his incapacitated shoulder. His face drained of all color, wheezing as he bent over.

There, standing at the back of the room near the entrance, stood another of Sham's vessels, clutching a rifle. A burly man, the vessel was a messenger for one of the larger mafia families in the area. Shaft had been fortunate that he'd had that body in the area on business, and that he'd kept a weapon on him at all times in case an emergency arose. Just as Shaft would have liked to do, had Graham not deterred him.

As Sham used the other vessel to start concealing evidence of Shaft and Graham's involvement, Shaft stumbled back over to where his boss laid on the floor. He started to bend down, but lost strength and ended up on his knees. Shaft's physical capacity had been taxed far beyond its limits, and only his mental fortitude as Sham kept him conscious. Even with that, though, he knew the body should have passed out by now. He did not know what force kept him awake, kept the body from shutting down. All he knew was that, upon reaching Graham, relief flooded his body and alleviated the agony that tore at his body. Just the proximity acted as a painkiller. He checked to make sure Graham's vital signs remained steady enough to dissuade worry, and he heaved a sigh as he found them non-critical.

The sight of Graham's body laying alone upon the cold floor brought a frown to Shaft's face. He reached out and tried to wrap his arms around his boss, a difficult feat as his one arm had its muscles decimated from the bullets. Still, he managed to take most of the weight onto his remaining good arm, and he gathered the fainted man into his arms. He ran one hand over Graham's long tresses, a move Shaft thought was supposed to be comforting, just in case Graham suffered even though he wasn't conscious. The idea made his stomach surge, and his heart palpitated with anxiety, even though he was certain Graham would be fine. How curious. For once, he cursed his lack of knowledge and experience regarding more complex emotional matters such as this.

"I'm sorry." He said to the passed out man, though he couldn't say what exactly he was apologizing for. All he knew was that it was the truth, whatever it referred to.

And then Shaft's body slipped into unconsciousness, the blackness creeping in from the corners of his vision until all awareness from the vessel had shut down completely. Before he could fall onto the floor, Sham's other vessel caught him. Having accomplished his task of concealment, Sham took both unconscious bodies out to the awaiting car, to take them into medical care.

Graham recovered by the next day, and he insisted on being released just minutes after having stabilized. Shaft, who woke not long before his boss, managed to dissuade the man from wreaking havoc on the staff for not freeing him, though it took great effort and managed to add a throbbing headache and sore stomach to his list of physical ailments. The man reacted poorly to the entire sequence of events - one reaction Shaft _could _predict. Being seen in a vulnerable state wasn't exactly something Graham appreciated. So Shaft caught a lot of flak for that, as if reprimanding the henchman would somehow negate Shaft's seeing him defeated. Still, when the berated Shaft made a motion to leave the room, Graham insisted he stay and wouldn't allow him to leave his side.

When asked about what exactly happened, Shaft concocted a story about having talked the assailants into desisting in return for a promise not to encroach on their business any further. To him, the story played like a false tune, but he couldn't come up with a better explanation. Besides, he doubted Graham would question him. And he proved right, in that Graham accepted his answer with only a few inane questions.

When Shaft thought about it, he realized Graham was the only person who truly trusted him. Sure, Master Huey and Hilton trusted Sham, but they had no reason _not _to. They didn't know he'd betrayed them, that he'd traded their shackles for his freedom. And various people close to Sham's other vessels trusted those personas, but the same reasoning applied. He thought back to the incident at the _Dolce_. Graham was the only person who managed to simultaneously know that Shaft acted with ulterior purposes and yet still place trust in him. He didn't know how to feel about having such faith put in him, only thinking he did not wish to abuse it.

Shaft repaid his boss in kind, sticking around at his bedside and engaging him when he rambled and constructed elaborate hypothetical situations, despite his ill health. Even when the doctors insisted Shaft return to bed to heal, he objected until they allowed him to stay, even though it meant he fell asleep sitting in the chair next to Graham's bed, in a position that aggravated his wounds. He suspected the staff just didn't want to anger Graham again, or else they'd never have allowed it.

Once, Sham awoke the vessel in the middle of the night, to find Graham asleep. Shaft looked upon the man and studied his face, surprisingly peaceful in slumber. Rather than being able to appreciate the sight, though, Shaft was hit with the image of what could have been, of him standing over Graham's lifeless body, having been too slow to save him from the enemy's bullets. He stared at Graham for a few minutes after that picture, as he allowed himself to be grateful for the relatively fortunate outcome. It took a strong opponent to defeat Graham Specter; Shaft wouldn't have stood a chance in combat. If he hadn't had another vessel nearby, the tragedy would have been nigh inevitable. If it had happened, would Graham look much like this? Silently at rest?

Disturbed, Shaft reached over and laid his palm over his boss's hand. At the contact, he could feel the man's pulse carry blood through the man's body, his own hand warmed by the energy radiating from Graham's skin. The reminder of life brought a deep sigh to Shaft's lips, his shoulders hunching as his muscles relaxed. He squeezed Graham's hand, as if the grip could tether him to life in Shaft's mind. Already, Sham began to mentally run through all the actions he could have done differently to prevent the incident, that he _should _have done better as both Sham and as Graham's right-hand man. And as his eyes glazed, his mind slipping into these calculations, he made a promise to his boss.

"Never again. I'll protect you better from now on. I promise."

And then, so quietly he almost didn't realize he was doing so, a confession.

"I can't risk failing anymore. I care about you too much."

And then, as if his very soul had lightened, Shaft's body slipped back into slumber, his hand clutching Graham's. And for once, Sham felt at peace.

A/N: Thank you for reading. Any feedback is appreciated.


	4. Taken Apart

"So, like this, boss?"

Shaft sat at a warehouse workbench, leaning over a pocket watch that had been partially dismantled. The back of the watch laid removed to the side, leaving the tiny components exposed. Hands quivering, he held a thin pair of tweezers between his fingers, hovering above a prominent cog near the center of the watch. As he lowered the tweezers and squinted to focus better on the miniscule parts, he did not notice the incoming hand until it had grabbed his wrist and squeezed, stopping his movement. At the tight grip, pain shot through his wrist and fingers.

From behind him, Graham said, "No, no, no, _no_. That is completely wrong, _utterly_ wrong. Didn't you listen to me before, Shaft? Let me tell you a sad, sad story - it's about a man who doesn't listen to what he's told and takes out the pieces all wrong and breaks his watch forever. Then, how will he ever know what time it is? What will he do, stuck in the tragedy of a timeless existence? Tell me, Shaft."

The underling considered. "Well, maybe his boss will give him a raise to buy a new one."

Of course, Shaft didn't believe that outcome was even remotely possible. Actually, his chance of convincing Graham to even give him his regular pay typically stood at about nil. Neither fact bothered Shaft anymore, not after having spent so much time with Graham, the thoughts only bringing a dull ache of resignation. In this case, though, he wouldn't even need the raise. They'd found the pocket watch laying amongst some abandoned antiques in an alleyway, which the boss had insisted on rifling through. As usual, Shaft couldn't tell whether Graham had forgotten the watch's origins or exaggerated for dramatic purposes.

Ignoring Shaft's answer, Graham moved the man's hand over a few centimeters, to a gear lodged near the watch's edge. His fingers squeezed, and Shaft winced as a second bout of pain stabbed through his tendons. Graham lifted and lowered the henchman's hand over and over, making the tweezers jab at the chosen gear.

"Start with _this _part right here. And then you move, move, move, move - "

Graham maneuvered Shaft's hand in complex pattern, jutting in acute angles that darted from edge to edge and criss-crossed until it circled back to the spot at which he'd begun. Then, he released his hold. The whole demonstration took less than five seconds.

"And then you just remove the parts in that order and everything will be perfectly dismantled. Like a beautiful geometric diagram, or maybe a cubist painting! Just be the Picasso of the tweezers. Easy, right?"

Shaft blinked as he stared at the open watch, trying to retrace Graham's movements in his mind. He tried to visualize the pathway as lines overtop the interlocking cogs, but it kept jumbling and backtracking in his head. Had Graham crossed _that _gear third, or the one to the left? Had the zig-zag three-quarters through been at the bottom edge or the top? Shaft's hand started shaking again. Had his instructor been someone more sane, Shaft would have just asked for a repeat of the instructions. But somehow, he suspected making that request to Graham would leave him with a broken hand.

Hesitating, he lowered the tweezers and started the process of removing the first gear. That, at least, he knew to do with certainty.

"Easy." He said skeptically. "Maybe for you, boss, but not everyone has the fortune of being a mechanical genius, you know."

Graham shifted his position and peered at Shaft's work over his shoulders. Beads of sweat formed at the top of Shaft's forehead, as his boss's hot breath tickled the back of his neck. He'd thought nothing could be worse than Graham's violent ranting, but the sheer weight of his silence proved much more unnerving. At least he knew the insanity had already hit when Graham started rambling, but in the tense quiet, it could strike out at him in any moment.

Slowly, he lifted the first gear up and away from the watch to lay it down on a cloth spread atop the workbench. He took a second to determine the next piece Graham gestured at before, and after going back and forth between two cogs, made the decision. As no pain overtook him, Shaft figured he'd made the correct choice.

He'd just started lowering the tweezers to extract it, when a loud question from Graham broke his concentration.

"Hey, so why are you suddenly so interested in learning how to dismantle things anyway?"

Shaft jerked back in surprise, the tweezers fumbling between his fingers. Fortunately, he managed to regain his grip on the tool, letting out a sigh of relief. Though he moved to restart his task, Shaft froze as he tried to answer Graham and ran into a mental roadblock.

_'Because you love doing it. And I want to understand you better.'_

That was the answer that came from deepest within him, the truest answer he could offer. However, just the thought of uttering such bold statements clogged his throat with fear. He struggled enough admitting the words in his mind, let alone performing the physical act of constructing them with his lips. Besides, he questioned whether Graham would even understand what he meant, had he the strength to confess. And then, he wondered which answer to that he'd prefer.

* * *

The idea occurred to him last week, on an occasion when he'd arrived at the warehouse earlier than expected one morning, and he'd noticed Graham already inside. Upon realizing the man hadn't noticed his entrance, he started to make a move to call out, when a strange pull from inside his body stopped him. Rather than announcing his presence, Shaft made the impromptu decision to keep back and observe Graham in concealment. He still puzzled over why he'd chosen to do so, but he felt no regret for it, because the sight had enraptured him.

Inside, his boss stood in front of a car and took it apart with his beloved wrench, each part falling off at the slightest touch. Graham's hands moved so quickly, it appeared as if he only brushed each component, a caress that alone could coax the object into toppling. Shaft had observed the process countless times before; Graham could hardly go five minutes without seeking out an object to take apart. However, for all of Sham's skilled surveillance, he'd failed to truly pay notice to Graham's appearance when the man performed his dismantling. He thought it understandable enough. Under normal circumstances, Graham's malice rendered Shaft so on edge, he was unable to take the leisure of appreciating the sight of his boss. Not to mention, the malice overlaid and obscured the beauty of his expression, which Shaft had not noticed until that instant.

While the mechanical skill Graham displayed was astounding in itself, it was his body, his countenance that held Shaft spellbound. Graham's body moved with fluidity, as if in a choreographed dance. Every motion had purpose, direction, without even a hint of doubt or effort. Watching, it gave the sense that the man had gone through the same motions a thousand times before, never growing weary of its repetition. And indeed, Shaft thought that the likely case. Graham twirled, side-stepped, swung his arms in wild gestures. The violence in his activity glared in every sharp jerk of the arm and swift yank of the wrench, but its presence did not overburden his body as it did when he dismantled in front of his henchmen.

Despite the visible routine in every movement, Graham's face revealed a clean joy free of any trace of weariness or boredom. A pure emotion lit him from the inside out, sharpening every angle of his face and brightening his eyes. The man existed simultaneously in the moment of demolition and outside it, in some realm deep within the mind. Sham recalled his vast experience observing human beings, trying to find another vision to which to compare Graham's air of exhalation. He thought of a young man embracing his lover, of priests kneeling before a cross, of an actress bowing before a cheering audience. Each represented different, vital components of Graham's emotion, but fell short in some regard. While the examples matched Graham in purity, they lacked the combination with the destructive object of his affection, the contrast that brought his expression from fascinating to stunning. How could ecstasy be pure and malicious at the same time? How could he shine with such radiance when the fuel was such darkness? How could the concepts coexist?

Every day, Shaft discovered a part of Graham he had not noticed before, or at least, had not appreciated. Every day, a new piece of the puzzle that seemed to fit nowhere. And yet, as he gained new knowledge, he understood less and less about the man. It drove him mad, manifesting in frustration towards everything his boss did. Shaft also _loathed_ the way it forced him to look at his own personality, as well. For instance, had Sham ever shown, or even felt, the kind of rapture he saw in Graham? In any of his vessels?

He savored the experience as long as possible, until he had to approach his boss once it came near time for the other men to arrive. However, the image of it, the seeds of doubt and reverence it sowed, took root within him. And a few days later, in a bid to understand that aspect of his boss, he'd asked Graham to teach him how to take apart a simple piece of machinery. His boss, who for all the pain he inflicted could be quite considerate, agreed with enthusiasm. They'd chosen a pocket watch to start with and scheduled a time, and Shaft felt a pulse-racing anticipation unlike any before.

How strange that a process as base as demolition could provoke such a strong reaction.

How strange that a single person could, as well.

* * *

"Well? Are you going to answer me, Shaft?"

The voice reminded Shaft that it laid in his best interests to give Graham an answer, despite his concealment of his true intentions. The idea bothered him, the beginning of his lie leaving a sour taste in his mouth. His heart grew heavy, painful, like a jagged stone pressing against his chest. For a being who'd betrayed and deceived his way through life, Sham could not fathom why such an easy dishonesty should pitch him into turmoil. Rather than dissecting his reaction, when he had such limited time, Shaft settled on a watered down version of the truth.

"Uh, sorry, boss. I guess I just see how much you like taking things apart, and I wanted to give it a try." Shaft said.

The couple seconds of silence that met his answer struck a chord of fear within Shaft's core. A quiet reaction rarely ended well for him. Then again, did a noisy reaction fare well, either? Shaft shook his head, forcing the pointless contemplation from his mind. All his thoughts just seemed so mixed-up lately. He moved his hand to take apart another gear, making slow progress.

Interrupting his concentration, Shaft felt a heavy object dig into his back, pressing against his spine. Graham's wrench, no doubt - recognizable as he'd dealt with the sensation countless times before. He leaned forward to avoid the pain, but Graham only pressed it harder against his tense back. Stress, that familiar companion, snaked over every muscle, stiffening his body and making his limbs tremble.

"Wrong answer. Which tells me you have something to hide, some reason to deceive me. But what, what could it be?" Graham said.

Shaft's fingers wrapped around the tweezers, the metal edges slicing into his palm.

"I'm not hiding anything." He insisted.

"Why would you want to take my knowledge? Do you wish to replace me, is that it? That's it! You want to steal my abilities and take my place, don't you, Shaft? And then I'll be cast out into the cold, cold world to fend for myself, until I can gather up a new gang. And then, we'll have to be enemies, you and I, Shaft. Oh, can you think of a sadder story? I'll weep tears over having to do battle with you, my friend turned villain." Graham said, twisting the wrench so that it scraped the skin beneath Shaft's shirt.

Shaft clenched his jaw so tightly that his facial muscles hurt, a headache starting at the back of his head and spreading forward. Refusing to let Graham's inanity distract him, the man continued to extract small components from the watch. Similarly, he dug into the mess of Graham's imagined dilemma and picked out a single flaw.

"Doesn't your story imply that your men would betray you for me, boss?" He pointed out.

"You make a good point, Shaft. Am I to play Caesar in this mutinous act, with you cast as Cassius?"

"Brutus." Shaft corrected.

"Which leaves me with only one question - do I call these men beneath me my friends? If they'd turn on me so easily? But no person would leave his friend for their mortal enemy, so it seems I have no person to call friend upon this earth." Graham pondered.

Shaft thought about making a comment, but then he felt the wrench recede from his back, the pressure giving way to relief. He wasn't about to press his luck. Placing another piece on the cloth, he picked another component to remove. At this point, he'd completely forgotten the order of disassembly Graham had given him, betting only on the luck of the draw.

"But what is life without friendship? Friends are like the spice on the dry dish of life: the salt, pepper, oregano, paprika, cinnamon, cilantro - "

"Cilantro's an herb, boss."

" - I know, I just like the word cilantro. But without those spices, what is my life but a dry, bland bake of tedium? There is no sadder fate than that of a tedious ,tedious - "

Realizing he had to cut off his boss now, as he recognized the familiar direction the conversation was headed, Shaft decided to intervene. He yanked a cog from the watch and tried to turn the subject back around.

"Uh, you said I was your friend earlier, boss." He said.

"True, true, true. And isn't it apt, in a way, that your mortal enemy should also be your only friend? For no one can know a person better than his enemy, and therefore no one could be such a perfect friend. What a complicated, deep bond we'll have, like out of some gripping drama. What a reason for celebration! Yes, Shaft, I do think you are my only friend." Graham declared.

"What about Boss Ladd?" Shaft pointed out, though the very name sent his stomach churning. The reaction came partially from being Graham's right-hand man, who therefore ended up dragged into the messes the wretched Ladd Russo roped Graham into. But it also came from Sham's unfortunate encounters with the man in his other vessels, who'd met a painful fate at the Russo's hands once.

"He's like a big brother, so it's different." Graham said, waving off the suggestion.

Though he thought about bringing up some other names - Elmer, Smith, Jacuzzi - Shaft decided it was a dead end route. Best to just let Graham spiral down whatever path he'd started down. Besides, he'd removed almost every part of the watch.

"He's a subject of worship, the best of the best. He's an image of perfection, an idol to which I cannot ever reach. How can I call him a friend if I'm not worthy of being his equal, Shaft?"

"I guess you can't, boss." Shaft conceded. Defeat no longer bothered him.

"Besides, I couldn't pick anyone but you for my only companion. Because for someone like me, I can only select the finest people to call mine. Anything else would be tedium. And I've already selected you. How exciting! Just the thought gets me revved up." Graham said, clamping his hands down on Shaft's shoulders.

The man froze, having just removed the final component. His heart thudded, and though he recognized adrenaline well by now, he still couldn't pinpoint its catalyst. As he stared at the empty watch, he realized he'd been treating Graham's words with flippancy. It was easy to forget the man's words were genuine, that to him, he was just speaking with honesty, despite the extreme emotion. To dismiss it as insanity or drivel was to dismiss Graham's entire character. Shaft cringed at the thought of being guilty of such a crime - not the first time he'd had to reprimand himself for it.

"Why's that?" He asked, with genuine curiosity.

Graham leaned over his shoulder to study the watch, his hair brushing against Shaft's cheek. When Shaft inhaled, the air reminded him of refueling his car for a long journey, the smell of anticipation and innovation and absolute _motion_. Graham plucked the tweezers from his underling's hand and placed it with the other removed parts. Then, he laid his palm over the back of Shaft's hand, interlacing their fingers.

"Tell me, Shaft. How does it feel to have taken apart your first object? Are you excited as I am?"

Shaft looked upon the disassembled watch, trying to muster up some emotion towards his accomplishment. He found a mild interest from the experience, as he did whenever he gathered a new piece of knowledge, but nothing near Graham's destructive rapture. He frowned at the realization that he'd come no closer to understanding what he'd seen in Graham.

"Not really. It was interesting, but I didn't get much out of it." He confessed.

"Yes, yes, yes. Of course you didn't. Because you _couldn't_ ever like it as I do, despite what you said you were trying to do. And I don't think you're stupid, Shaft, so you had to know that. And you still tried anyway. Because of me." Graham said.

Shaft chose his words carefully, unsure how much Graham had caught onto. "That is true."

"Even though when you deal with me you are frustrated, annoyed, edgy, nervous, and _unhappy_, you still try to share the things I enjoy. And I don't get it, so it's like you are an item that I want to dismantle but I can't figure out what the parts are, and I can't unscrew certain sections or even see the blueprint. You know I only like dismantling material stuff, but it's that I _couldn't _take you apart if I wanted to. What a sad story, of a mystery that I'll never solve. A terrible end for my curiosity." Graham ranted.

Shaft let the words sink in, sifting through the excess nonsense to dig out the valuable pieces of Graham's admission. The full implication came to him in a slow fashion, dawning on him bit by bit. It surprised him that he hadn't thought of it before, that perhaps he wasn't the only confounded person of the two. Perhaps he wasn't the only person interested in that which he couldn't understand, couldn't predict. Perhaps he'd been thinking too much on his own feelings lately, and he'd neglected to consider Graham's. He'd tried to analyze Graham's feelings towards almost everything. But never towards him.

At the grain of understanding, Shaft stood up, stuffing the empty watch into his pocket. Forgetting the loose parts, he clutched Graham's hand and turned to face him for the first time since they'd begun the lesson. He cleared his throat to speak, but Graham interrupted him before he could make his reply.

"But enough of that. You've completed your first disassembly, Shaft. What a cause for celebration! How excited this makes me. Because you see, I'm your instructor, and so your success is my success, and so really, it's like I've accomplished a victory. Let's go celebrate our victory together, Shaft!" Graham exclaimed, reaching out and taking Shaft's other hand into his own.

Glad for the redirect, Shaft squeezed his boss's hands in a gesture of appreciation, and he smiled at the man. For once, the tension was fleeing from his body.

At least, until Graham added, "We'll go to your place, of course. And you better have great alcohol to celebrate with! Or else there will be hell to pay."

Paling, Shaft stammered as he tried to force out an answer. The last thing he needed was a destroyed apartment to deal with tomorrow, and he didn't have the money to replace his alcohol collection. Not that Graham really drank; the man got drunk off of his enthusiasm alone.

Taking advantage of Shaft's reaction, Graham let go of one of his partner's hands and pulled on the other one as he walked towards the entrance. For a moment, Shaft thought about protesting, but this time, it might be best to go with the flow. He was sending this body to an early grave as it was, anyway, with the amount of stress he imposed on it. Besides, maybe he'd get lucky and Graham would pass out before anything unfortunate could occur.

A thought struck him, and he halted and tugged back on Graham's hand. His boss paused and looked back, tilting his head.

"Wait, boss, I forgot to tell you something."

"Well? What is it? Out with it."

"What you said before. A lot of it was true, but uh, boss?" Shaft tugged at his collar, wondering why his throat suddenly felt so tight, his body so heated. "When I deal with you? It doesn't make me unhappy."

Graham grinned at him, and they stood still as Graham spared him a second of appreciation untainted by his rambles. Then, his boss turned around and pulled him along again, chattering about his wild imaginings for the night's celebrations. Though each fantasy was like an additional pound burdened onto Shaft's shoulders, he offered only casual contradictions to each, as opposed to any serious protest. He didn't have it in him to argue tonight, and the gratification tingling over his skin put him in too good of a mood to upset his friend.

Shaft hadn't achieved his goal of understanding Graham's exaltation. However, he had learned something that night. When he looked upon Graham, on those moments of true shared honesty, the sensation that disturbed his pulse and charged his energy reminded him of that look on his boss's face. It was the nearest he'd ever gotten to such awe, and he thought it was likely the closest he'd ever get. There existed no regret in the thought.

With his free hand, Shaft ran his fingers over the pocket watch in his jacket. He smirked to himself without realizing as he listened to Graham's excitement, as he felt the empty space where intricate gears once functioned. And watching the back of his boss's head as they walked together towards his car, he thought to himself -

_'Perhaps you are closer to dismantling me than you think, Graham Specter.'_

And following it, with a wave of anxiety as he realized he had no intention of piecing back together his watch -

_ 'I hope by then I will have learned to fear it no longer.'_


	5. One of Them

_'So this is how it feels.'_

It was two in the morning, and Shaft was absolutely, mind-numbingly drunk.

The bartender slid another glass of gin his way, and Shaft slapped down the last of his cash on the table, forgetting he'd need it to pay fare for public transportation back home. He grabbed the drink and brought it straight to his lips, squeezing his eyes shut as the liquid burned a trail down his throat, scorching like a fire in his stomach. When he first tried the drink, he'd thought it tasted horrid, but a few glasses deprived him of his senses, along with his ability to control himself. He swallowed half the tall glass in a couple quick gulps, hoping the speed would accelerate the erasure of any sobriety remaining. Shaft hadn't even known he _could _get drunk before that night. While it took longer and more alcohol than most people, however, he'd discovered that he most definitely could.

Shaft looked down at the drink in his hands, watching his hazy reflection ripple in the clear liquid. The picture of his face split, fractured by the ice and the slosh of the liquid as his hand trembled, and he thought it an appropriate likeness. No specific incident brought him to drink, but rather a culmination that built inside him like a fissure. As the vision swam, doubling and colluding and blurring at the edges, he remembered the day before, which had pushed him to going to the speakeasy.

_( They are looking at him, and he is standing to the side, and they do not approach him. They are making plans for after work, and they do not talk to him. In the corner of the warehouse, they complain about their lives with him, but there is reservation and there is doubt and it is justified. They are only a few feet away but it might as well be miles and he reaches out but he cannot touch them._

_ And then there's _him. _There's Graham standing there and talking, talking, talking, and he can figure out most of it but a lot just slips, slips, slips through his fingertips, and he scrambles to the floor to try and pick up the pieces to just understand but he can't. He's on his knees and he can't and now everything hurts and he knows he's messed up again. And he doesn't care because it makes him feel human and it makes him feel and it makes him belong. _

_ But it's the end of the day, and he stands and he watches and Graham is joking with another subordinate. And he knows he will never be like them, can never be like them, and he wants to reach out and hold Graham and be with him, but he can't and he won't and people don't do that. It's wrong and he's wrong and it just reminds him that he will never, never, never be one of them. And there's a pain under his chest and cracking in his ribs and acid in his veins and he can't understand why, why why - )_

Someone accidentally bumped into Shaft's shoulder, jolting him out of his thoughts. His stomach lurched from the movement, and he realized just how dizzy he'd become. He looked down at the drink again, and wondered if consuming it was worth the risk of passing out. Remembering just what that kind of unconsciousness could mean for him - another reminder of how inhuman he was - Shaft gathered the last of his resolve to push the drink away and stand up to leave.

He needed a minute to steady himself, so that he didn't collapse. Fortunately, he still had enough feeling in his legs to carry him out of the bar, though he needed to stop periodically and press against the wall for support.

Once he got outside, the wind cut through him and sent a shiver through his body. Shaft reached to pull his jacket closed, but when his fingertips closed over a thin shirt fabric, he realized he'd lost the coat at some point during the night. He put his hand atop his head to find his cap missing too. Had he even worn it out to the bar? Shaft searched his scattered memory, which was spotted with blank segments, but the answer eluded him -

_(Slip, slip, slipping through his fingertips)_

_ - _and so he was left cold and wondering what caused him to be so ill prepared. Shaft walked along the street, looking for his car, when he remembered he hadn't taken the vehicle to the bar. He crossed the sidewalk and leaned his back against the wall of a brick building, burying his face in his hands. How was he supposed to get home now? He could barely decipher the streets around him, let alone navigate back to his apartment. And he lived too far away from the bar for him to get to quickly, in his current condition. Anxiety began to set in, the knot in his stomach tightening, fingers trembling. But the alcoholic haze blocked off the worry there, glazing over all the negativity and coaxing him into thinking everything was just fine. Everything would work out, easy as that.

He'd just walk to the house of another of his vessels. He had enough of them, and plenty of them lived alone as well. Shaft closed his eyes and tried to call up one of his other addresses from his knowledge bank.

_'20...25? South 50th street? No, that can't be right, that's not anywhere near here. Maybe that actually says - '_

Thwak_._

Shaft froze, eyes still closed, at the all too familiar sound. He wondered if the alcohol had messed with his head, conjuring up a hallucination. Maybe if he just ignored it, it would go away. Yes, to his addled mind, this seemed like a _perfect _plan. He restarted his attempt to extract a nearby address from his knowledge bank, pressing his hand harder against his temple. Now, what was that street named again?

"You were supposed to be home _hours_ ago."

At the voice, Shaft's eyes shot open and he was forced to take in the sight of his boss, Graham Specter, standing there in front of him, wrench in hand as always. The man advanced on him, eyes narrowed and danger exuding from his entire body. Maybe it was the alcohol, but Shaft swore the brightness of Graham's image dimmed everything surrounding him. Like a beacon, he thought, a flash of light on the dull canvas of life - unpredictable and brilliant and painful to behold. Proud of his comparison, Shaft's lips began to curve into a crooked smile.

The wrench slammed into the wall next to Shaft's head with an ear-shattering _crash_, but it took him several seconds to flinch.

"Let me tell you a sad, sad story, Shaft. So there I am, at your apartment like we agreed - I had to dismantle a few bolts on your door, by the way, it was really very careless of you to leave that locked. So thoughtless, almost like you were _trying _to keep me out. But there I was, and the clock on your wall says it's the time we were supposed to meet, and you never come. So I - "

"Boss, I d-don't know what you're talking about." The words felt heavy on his thick tongue, like he couldn't figure out where one ended and the other began. Even though he'd stopped drinking, the delayed effects kept degrading his sobriety with every passing minute.

A pain rocked his stomach as Graham pressed his wrench into it, making the already dizzy man downright nauseous. His face flushed an even deeper red, sweat forming on his brow. Graham's eyes overpowered him, and he imagined those optics could cut straight through him. Shaft wasn't sure what was going on, but the sick grip of guilt wrapped around his heart.

"Don't interrupt me. A man's words are like his lifeblood. Yes, that's it - a man's words are his very life, and when you try to cut that off ,it's as if you're trying to kill me. Is that what you're trying to do, Shaft?"

He shook his head vehemently, and then clutched his hands to either side of his head as the motion sent a wave of dizziness through him.

"And now you've gone and thrown off my story. The beautiful linear _entirety_ of the story has been chopped up and suffered a downright tragic demise. Oh, now I'm upset!" Graham exclaimed.

Shaft took a step forward grabbed at Graham's free hand, clutching it between his own.

"Don't be! I didn't mean to make you upset, Boss." He said, voice ringing with genuine urgency. For whatever reason, being drunk had negated his ability to take his boss's usual nonsense in stride.

Graham tilted his head. "E-eh?"

After a beat, Graham tore his hand away from Shaft and gave him another jab to the stomach, causing Shaft to double over.

"Are you trying to trick me, Shaft? Is this a ruse, perhaps? Think you can throw me off your plot just like that? I'm on to you."

Shaft managed to get back up on his feet, though it took a great amount of effort, and he reached out again towards Graham. His boss reflected the advance with a swipe of his wrench, nudging Shaft's arm out of the way. The intoxicated man frowned.

"But Boss, I don't remember us having plans to meet." He said.

"Tell me, Shaft, do you recall this particular bit of conversation? When we were driving, and I told you I had the most _ingenious _plan. And I couldn't tell you what it was at that moment - secrecy is the virtue that sweetens every joy in life, to steal that from my plans would be a wretched _crime _- but I'd meet with you at ten in your apartment to tell you. And - hey, knock that off!"

As the man spoke, Shaft had placed a hand on Graham's head, playing with his boss's long, layered locks of hair. He wondered how the man managed to maintain such a complex style. He'd always wanted to run his fingers through it, see how it felt. Just as imagined, the tresses were soft beneath his palm. This simple observation amused him, and he smiled at the strands caught between his fingers.

"Are you even listening to me?" Graham snapped as he shoved Shaft's hand away from him once more.

"Sorry, Boss. I'm listening, I just - I didn't think you were serious back then." He said.

Shaft wasn't telling the entire truth. Most likely, he'd put himself on automatic listening mode, and his mind had decided Graham's 'plan' was just another piece of nonsense, and therefore he hadn't taken it seriously. But he didn't know, because he couldn't recall it happening at all.

"Why would I have not been serious? All my words deserve to be taken with equal weight, to do otherwise would be discrimination. I showed up at your apartment, and I suffered the agony of having to wait in tedium for hours. And I thought to myself - what could be holding up Shaft, who I know wouldn't abandon me over nothing? An accident, perhaps, or a mugging. Maybe a robbery, or you got roped into some complicated, underground plot. And I worried about this tragedy that must've befallen you! Isn't that just a sad story, Shaft?" Graham said.

Staring down at the ground, the dazed man said, "So you went out to find me, and - "

"And this is what I find! And now I must figure out what punishment you've earned." Graham said, the wrench _thwak_-ing in his palm as he pondered.

Shaft flexed his fingers, which he stared down at, trying to wrap his head around all the words Graham had thrown at him. More impaired than usual, he only managed to pick out a couple points from the stream of verbalization, When he finally managed to piece together what had occurred - though he still couldn't figure out just _how _Graham had found him - a tingling sensation bubbled up from within him. It pulled on his lips and lightened his insides, and before he knew it, he was doubled over again, but this time in laughter.

Graham took a step back and swung his wrench so that it pointed at his subordinate, understandably on guard since Shaft rarely laughed, or even looked carefree.

"Are you making fun of me? What am I to do in the face of such mockery?"

Lifting one hand, Shaft shook his head. "No, no, Boss, I'm not. I just - " The words tumbled from his lips, his control completely eroded. "- I went out drinking because I thought I'd never belong with this world, but then I find out you came all the way here because you were worried about me. And I see how flawed my thinking has been."

Graham lowered his wrench and said, "Don't belong? When I gave you your position in _my _crew, that was me making the decision that you belonged. To say otherwise is to rebel against my impeccable judgment."

Taking advantage of the other man's lowered guard, Shaft placed a hand on Graham's left shoulder, rubbing his fingers over the rough fabric. Even though his vision swam, all his eyes could see was the beauty of the man in front of him. He slid his hand down Graham's arm and noted how strong he was, despite his somewhat delicate appearance. How the man's eyes shone so brilliantly, so maliciously honest compared to Shaft's own murky ones. His desires from earlier, that want that struggled against his rigid code of conduct, that shameful urge to hold his boss tight, resurfaced. And this time, his inhibitions had broken down enough, his ability to process information been destroyed enough, that he stumbled forward and threw his arms around the man.

"S-Shaft? What are you doing? What is this?"

Instead of answering, Shaft just pushed the man closer against his own body, only able to think about how good it felt to be accepted by the man he found so fascinating. He reached one hand up and rested it on the back of Graham's head, tangling his fingers in his long hair. Graham squirmed some, trying to wrench free, but his efforts were half-hearted, and Shaft held fast.

Only after the man went still in his arms did he say, "I'm glad you found me, Boss."

"If you don't let go of me, I could get drunk off of the scent of you alone. The alcohol clings to you and pours like sweat from your body. Are you trying to get me drunk too, Shaft? To drag me down with you? Actually, that's rather exciting."

Shaft's eyes felt heavy, the alcohol like lead in his body. He muttered, "I like being with you like this, Graham. I don't know what I'd do without you. I'm sorry."

"Why would you apologize? I say, if there's anything you want in life, you should seize it. Or else life just becomes a long, tedious burden in which what you don't have dominates every minute. And then the joy is sapped from everything you do, and what kind of existence is that? Such a sad, sad story. But you're avoiding that, so that makes this a happy one!" Graham said, a grin bursting on his face. If he noticed Shaft's use of his real name, he didn't mention it.

A gust of wind sent a fresh bout of shivers through Shaft's body, and he remembered his predicament. Or, at least, a vague hint of what was wrong. His mind was too jumbled to fully comprehend anything that was happening. Freezing, he clung tighter to his boss, thinking he could use the man as a human heater.

"Can we go somewhere else?" He asked.

"Yes, yes, yes - we should continue our journey elsewhere. But where to? An apartment, the store, the warehouse, a hotel, a diner. So many places, how am I to choose?"

Shaft, who knew his body was on the brink of shutting down, asked, "Where's your apartment again?"

"Five - no, four - no six blocks to the northeast."

Though the distance might as well have been miles for the off-kilter man, Shaft nodded and let go of Graham. "Let's go there."

Graham snatched the other man's hand with his own and started off in the direction of the place he stayed at. Their fingers laced together, and to Shaft's relief, Graham didn't complain when the drunken man had to lean on him for balance. Though he did stiffen whenever Shaft, suddenly fascinated by the idea of physical contact, went to touch his boss's face or ruffle his hair.

After they'd walked a few minutes, Shaft recalled a fragment of their conversation. He had the sense to wait until Graham finished a spiel about the degeneration of the city to raise the unrelated question.

"Hey, wait, what was that plan you wanted to meet me for anyway?" Shaft asked.

"Oh, I don't remember now. This ordeal has robbed me of my inspiration, Shaft. I'm sure you will make it up to me tomorrow when I come up with a new plan, right? For your sake, I hope the answer is yes."

Knowing he would regret it in the morning, Shaft sighed and gave his answer: "Whatever you say, Boss."

But even as the weight of the consequences of his actions started to make his body ache, Shaft thought to himself that he belonged here, with this person, in this world with him, and that his hand fit in Graham's as if it was a natural match.

And even if all the other humans on the planet rejected him, that would always be enough to make him happy.

* * *

A/N: Here you are! I have a bunch of these, I just keep forgetting to upload the here. Anyway - thank you for reading. And thank you to the guest who reviewed - this is my OTP too so I'll definitely post more, and I appreciate the encouragement!


	6. Learning To Dance

"Do you know what music is to the human soul? It's like the electric current that runs through all the twisting and turning wires in your body to deliver energy to the beating heart inside, keeping it running like fuel in a machine. And if you don't get it in your system in regular intervals, all your organs begin to sputter and fail and slow until they've ground to an unavoidable, irreversible, utterly painful halt that chokes the life from you. Ah, what a sad story that would be.

So really, can we say that the poorest people are those without music? Or those without hearing? Yes, yes, no, wait, because deafness robs you of your need for recharging, because everything sounds the same, which means _everything _can be music to you. Even the vibrations of their fingers tapping on a table or footsteps on the ground or just wind blowing by when it's silent - intolerably, horribly silent - for everyone else. So really, to lose your hearing is the happiest story I can imagine! Oh, now I'm so full of _envy_. But what do I do now? Do I break my ears and become lucky myself? Or will it not be the same, because I already know of sound and music? Ugh, why is life so_hard? _Tell me."

"I think it's a good idea, Boss. Maybe you should break your mouth while you're at it. You know, so you can _really _appreciate the silence."

"Or perhaps I should try it out on _you _first, Shaft. So that you can tell me whether or not it works, and spare me from the tragedy of permanently destroying my senses in the pursuit of my fabled treasure - like Blackbeard's lost gold, ever searched for but ever out of reach."

"If you tried it out on me, how could I tell you whether or not it worked?"

"Oh, Shaft, you poor, poor, _unimaginative_ soul. Don't be so blind as to assume that words and sound are the only ways to convey a message. That would be foolish, so _simplistic_. And I don't work with fools. You know what someone who works with fools is? Even lower than a fool, that's what. Don't you make me into that, Shaft. I won't have you humiliate me that way, like a wretched fiend."

"You don't need to worry about _me _humiliating you. You have that covered all by _gachk _- oh no, no, no, please put the wrench down, come on Boss, please, you're going to crush my throat. I won't humiliate you, I swear."

"Good. Keep it that way, and we'll have a happy tale on our hands. You've always been my most presentable man, don't use your simple-mindedness to ruin that memory of you in retrospect."

"Thanks, Boss."

"Now, where was I? Oh yes, the art of speaking with your body. Ah, so much to say on that subject. Wherever do I start? Perhaps I shouldn't, because how can words do justice to the subject when the subject is that _words _can't say what bodily motion can? Enigmas within enigmas, life is such a puzzle. A beautiful, magnificent puzzle that _I _get to put together. And take apart."

"You know, fascinating as this all is, none of it answers why I found you dancing in the warehouse, Boss."

Shaft leaned against the concrete warehouse wall, rubbing his sore windpipe, expression indifferent even though his face blanched to an ashen white. He'd recently returned from running an errand a couple miles out of the city, where he'd managed to clean up some loose ends left behind after Graham's latest ill-advised escapade. Upon entering their usual meeting place to report on his success, he'd found his boss twirling about in an erratic, rhythmic manner. He'd allowed himself a minute of amused observance before interrupting with a sarcastic bout of applause, thus prompting the lengthy diatribe on music.

Undeterred and unabashed, despite his prior claims of fearing humiliation, Graham grinned at the intruding henchman as he tossed his wrench from hand to hand.

"Well color me surprised, Shaft, that you still fail to understand the most basic facts of life. Weren't you listening to me? Perhaps you are the lucky one after all, able to hear and yet still being deaf, taking the best of both worlds at hand."

_'Lucky isn't the word I'd use to describe this life.' _Shaft thought, but he managed to keep that thought locked up. Engaging Graham meant toeing a delicate line between challenge and patience, and Shaft knew well enough when he tipped the balance.

"Let me tell you a tragic story. I'll repeat myself, even though to utter unnecessary words is to waste the precious, little energy that life grants me. I hope you are happy as I drain myself for you. I hope the sacrifice of my limited amount of words given to me daily, of the language that makes up my very being, finally appeases you. Has it always been your goal to be the Tlaloc to my human sacrifice?"

Catching his wrench, Graham sunk down to his knees and clutched a hand to his heart, miming the act of tearing it out for the Aztec god's favor. The pain on his face rang convincing enough that Shaft wondered if Graham hadn't missed his true calling in the world of stage drama.

"The more you complain about it, the more words you waste."

"Yes, yes, yes, but you miss the important point. In repeating it, I also get to think about it again, don't I? And everyone knows that you must hear a story twice to get the full implications of it, all the tiny, subtle, little nuances. So really, now I get to learn it all over again for myself. What an exciting yarn this is going to be for us! Does this mean I'm in debt to you? I'll never be able to repay you for my gratitude.

But getting to the original topic, what had I said? Ah yes, music is the electricity for the soul. But you know what happens when you overload a machine with energy? It speeds up faster, faster, faster, until its overheating and overworking and it bursts into an unusable and unsalvageable _mess_. You might think I'd appreciate that destruction, but you'd be wrong. There's a huge difference between an object blowing up into an ugly mess and being able to beautifully dismantle it piece by piece, fully savoring the experience."

"And at what point will this become relevant, Boss?"

Shaft glanced at his watch, though he knew it could be hours more before he escaped the grasp of Graham Specter's company. The sun outside set not long before, plunging the city into night and slipping quietly over the line into the next day. Shaft's body ached down to the bone, and he desired nothing more than to retire it into bed for the night.

"Your boldness reaches new heights with every passing day. It's quite fascinating, really. Well, since you asked, I'll tell you. But first - how do you prevent a machine from building up too much energy within itself? You run it off, of course, and use up all the expendable electricity, often in a wild and unstructured form."

"Uh, Boss? That's not entirely accurate, from a technical standpoint."

"It's a metaphor, Shaft. A non-literal device to better convey my message. Now may I continue?"

"Proceed."

"Dancing, you see, is the metaphorical equivalent of running that overloaded machine. Because your body is so jazzed on musical energy that it can't contain all the excitement just fluttering through it, and I just can't hold it all inside of me. It's just like when I need to destroy something, that incomprehensible urge, but that comes from a different kind of overwhelming energy. So that, in summary, is why you walked in to find me dancing."

"Interesting, Boss. Can't say I agree myself. Never been much for dancing."

As a weighty silence fell like an iron curtain between them, Shaft wished he could retract his words. Normally, he refused to regret disagreeing with his flighty boss, whose _actual_ beliefs and philosophies neither of them could keep track of anyway. If he disagreed at one point, Graham would just end up espousing that contrary belief at another time, so Shaft felt free to speak as he pleased. However, watching his boss, he realized that on this occasion, his disagreement was going to cost him a good chunk of his night.

Slowly, Graham walked until he stood just an inch away from his companion. He tapped the end of his wrench against Shaft's chest, light enough not to cause serious pain, and tilted his head upwards at the taller man. Half-lidded and unfocused, his eyes pierced into Shaft's like the electricity of which they'd just spoken.

"It can't be. I must be hearing incorrectly. Are you, Shaft, right now telling me that you don't know how to dance?"

"It's just not for me, Boss. Nothing to make a big deal out of or - _ow_, can you please not do that?"

"If you paid attention when I spoke, I wouldn't have to, now would I? I didn't ask if you_liked _to, I asked if you _could_. Can you? Well? I expect a real answer this time, or else."

"I-I guess I have to say I can't, Boss."

"Well, well, well, you know what this means, Shaft?"

"That we can accept our differences and part none the worse for it?"

"What it means, is that now, I get to live out a very joyful story indeed. Because you are a malnourished soul, deprived of the precious energy nutrients to your very life. And I'm the one who gets to show you a better way. Like Socrates to Aristotle, teaching the very essence that is this fantastic beast we call life."

"You mean Plato, not Aristotle. And didn't you say that _music _was the energy, and _dance_was the outlet just a minute ago?"

"So really, what can I do but to accept this glorious responsibility that has been thrust upon me? The greatest aspiration, they say, is to teach one's fellow man. And so, at this very moment, I will make it my absolute mission to teach you a better way. I've committed to it with every fiber of my being. Shaft, I am going to teach you how to dance."

"That's not necessary, Boss."

"Oh? Are you saying you wish to _deprive _me of this great mission I've already given myself over to? Would you really do that to me? Are you really so cold, so cruel, so utterly sadistic?"

At the increasingly menacing tone of Graham's voice, Shaft realized he had no means by which to escape the situation. The best he could do was to play along and hope that, once Graham's 'mission' came to completion, he'd be free for the night.

"I wouldn't dream of it, Boss."

"Then we'll do it. It's simple, all you have to do is follow my lead."

"Doesn't there have to be music if you want to dance?"

Graham laughed. "If you can't dance without music, if your soul is so barren that you can't create your own soundtrack, then there's no hope left for you. And I refuse to give up on you, Shaft. No, no, no, I won't do it."

Before the underling could protest, Graham snatched Shaft's hand and led him to the middle of the empty warehouse, his grip an iron vise.

"Now, it's really quite the simple matter to dance. Anyone could do it. Even you. _Especially_you."

With visible reluctance, Graham placed his beloved wrench on the floor, so that he could take Shaft's other hand with his own as well.

Fingers laced, Shaft's body tensed and his skin warmed from the proximity, though he disguised the reaction well. Standing close to Graham was akin to walking on an empty street; the route felt exciting and right, but at any moment, a car could appear out of nowhere to strike you down.

"Now, if you just loosen every limb and forfeit control of your body, it's simple, got it? Watch what I'm doing and mirror it, match it, complement it. Understand?"

"Understood."

"Alright, good. We'll start with a swing dance. Now, just step back like this, and then you go like this, and like that, and with this, and you can tilt like this."

Graham's body jerked and flowed in sharp, quick moves that followed no foreseeable rhythm or pattern. The appearance of the dance matched none Shaft had observed before, which led him to believe that Graham made the entire technique up. Graham gave no hint of what he'd try next, so Shaft was left far behind, stumbling to keep in pace with Graham's motion. Every now and then, Graham let go of his hand to spin or twirl or perform some other strange motion, leaving Shaft holding one hand out awkwardly without any idea what to do with it until Graham grabbed it once more.

Because he had such a height advantage, too, Shaft had trouble mirroring Graham's movements. His longer limbs required a different dynamic and timing to keep in check, which he did not even know if Graham realized. As a result, he repeatedly managed to step on his boss's feet with his clumsy attempts.

After one particularly rough stomp on Graham's toes, the leading man stopped.

"No, no, no, this will not do at all. At _all_, Shaft. This is the most wretched dancing I've ever had the misfortune of coming across. How did you get through life without someone stopping the sad story that is your dancing ability?"

"I believe they valued my other abilities more."

"Or perhaps they were too kind to tell you. Yes, that must be it. You've been struck down by kindness, Shaft. And I've been forced into the role of the honest but cruel mentor, who has to deal with the guilt of hurting you in order to make you a better person."

"I'm really not that hurt, Boss. Trust me."

"But wherever could this horrid ability come from? Tell me, Shaft? You must have some inkling."

"Maybe it comes from having no actual rhythm to follow."

"No, no, wrong again, always so wrong. If that was true, then _I'd _be awful too, now wouldn't I? Simply logic will tell you that. Besides, your rhythm isn't the problem."

"It isn't?"

"It's the way you move itself, that's entirely flawed. Your body is so stiff, and every time you move it's so unnatural. Like a man made of metal with rusted joints, trying to imitate the motion of real human beings."

"I - uh, I don't know what you mean, Boss."

"Oh? Did I strike a nerve? Your tenseness comes from fear and an extreme, calculated restraint. I'm just saying, Shaft, that from your dancing, it seems like you are afraid to be human."

Frozen, Shaft could not force any words out. Instead, the weight of the man's unexpected observation crushed down on him.

"I don't know why you are, and to be perfectly honest, I don't care. You are who you are or what you are and that doesn't matter, because at the end of the day, you're still _Shaft_. And that's all that matters."

Was it, though? Shaft wondered. He had no way to express his doubt, but it clouded his expression, darkening the murky irises of his eyes. It was easy to make claims when you didn't understand the full truth.

"And none of it prevents you from being able to be human. Do you know how I came to terms with my own existence? I dislocated my limbs, one by one, until I was completely taken apart. Do you know how I felt? How refreshed, how happy, how at peace it made me. Perhaps if I take apart all of _your _joints, it'll make you understand your humanity too."

"No, no, that's entirely unnecessary, let's please not do that, Boss."

"You're right. It worked because my existence lays in the fact that I _can _be taken apart, because that's the part of reality most harsh inside me. That's what makes my childhood story such a happy one. But I don't know what it is inside you that fights being human."

"Humanity is a two-way street, Boss. Maybe being human fights me as well."

"I'm astounded, Shaft. That was actually quite deep."

"If you say so."

"But no, wait, no, that's not the most impressive part. It's that, in your attempt to be vague and distract me with a philosophical tangent, you've actually _revealed _to me the answer to our dilemma. That's the part of humanity you most fear - knowing other people will not accept you. And just as I fight destruction with destruction, you fight isolation with isolation. What a lonely life you must lead. This is coming to be a sad, but complex tale after all."

"But your method works and leaves you human, right? So if mine is the same, then why do you get to criticize it?"

"Because it's wrong. Utterly, horribly, tragically _wrong_. I'm right - everything _will _be destroyed over time. But your reality is a false one, a cruel illusion. Because you _are_ accepted. By other people, by the world, by your companions. By me."

"I believe that, Boss."

"No you don't. No, no, don't _lie _to me, Shaft. I hate when people lie to me. It robs me of the truth, of the honesty that is so rightfully mine by natural law. Or maybe you think you believe it, but you don't. Because you can't face acceptance, can't acknowledge it, are too _fearful _to believe in it, unless it's shoved in your face. Yes, wait. Yes, that has to be it. You don't understand acceptance unless it's in the form of _affection_. And who has ever shown you affection?"

_'Nobody.' _But Shaft would not make that confession. Not today.

"Well then, what am I to do now? I'm in a position of great power here, and it would be a sin to abuse what God has given me with this epiphany. Even if it is a horrible burden on me. Here I am, tasked with the knowledge of that which can help you understand your own existence. Like I did when I was a kid. And I also have the means to give you it. But do I go through with it? How can I possibly stand this responsibility?"

"You don't have to do anything, Boss. There's no responsibility on you, alright? I don't need some savior."

"The only real kind of savior is one who saves the person who does not know they are lost. Because obvious danger can only hurt so much, but danger that twists the very soul? That, a person never sees. So here I am, able to save someone from that awful fate. A hero, really. Isn't that funny? Someone like me, a hero? It makes me want to laugh. But it's not funny. It's rather awful, actually."

"I don't know what you're talking - Boss, w-what are you doing?"

Graham reached up and placed one hand on his companion's cheek. Shaft did not expect the caress to feel so gentle, not when those fingers had destroyed so much, but the man's touch was light and soft against his skin. Confounded, his muscles locked up, so that he could not so much as voice a protest when Graham pressed his body against him.

"Of course you did not understand my electricity and machine metaphor. Because if you don't embrace your existence, if you've never been shown affection, then you don't have the receivers in place to carry the energy I talked about. So I'll have to give them to you, so that you see more clearly. It is a gleeful story, that I am allowed to do that."

"All this talk of humanity, from someone who sees humans as machines."

"I'm using _humanity _because that's a term that won't confuse you. It's an interchangeable word with existence, which is closer to my meaning. Really, it is as if you are a malfunctioning machine that cannot understand how it must operate and is afraid to accept its own mechanisms. But I was trying to keep it within the parameters of my lovingly constructed analogy, so keep up."

"Since when do you _fix_ malfunctions, Boss? Can't say I'd be keen to trust you with something like that."

"You really must learn when to shut up, Shaft."

Shaft fell silent as Graham's arms stretched upward and wrapped loosely around his neck, fingers interlocking. He deserved the rebuke. Much as Graham enjoyed destruction, the mechanic remained incapable of translating that desire into anything figurative, choosing only to deal with dismantling the physical and material world. Shaft realized that applying those concepts of fixing and destroying to the man's philosophizing had been a mistake.

Hesitant, he put his hands on Graham's waist, under the assumption that was the proper position for whatever his boss wanted to teach now. His fingers only brushed the man's body, too uncertain to grip any tighter than that.

After Graham's body started to move, slower this time, and more methodical in its pattern and rhythm, Shaft caught on. A slow dance - that was the medium Graham chose to show the affection of which he'd spoken.

Shaft's steps remained awkward at first, though he at least avoided stepping on Graham's feet this time. He did not know how to hold another person, was unfamiliar with having the weight of a man leaning against him, and so he second-guessed every move he made. The whole idea struck him as pointless and strange. He did not understand why Graham thought this would assist him.

Stranger still, though, was the reaction it caused in him. All he could think about was how soft Graham's fingers felt against his skin when used for an embrace instead of a blow. How the quiet from the talkative man touched him as a more precious gift than any money could buy. How the warmth of Graham's body defrosted some part deep inside of him. How his own heart slowed until it beat in time with Graham's, which he could feel thudding against his chest.

True to Graham's claims, without even realizing it, Shaft ended up naturally matching Graham in their soundless dance.

There was only that minute hesitation, that subtle dissidence between their motions, to remind Shaft that no matter how in-tune to Graham he became, he'd always be just the smallest step behind.

"Very good, Shaft. How exciting it is, to see the story from beginning to end, from your ineptitude to the accomplishment of becoming at least half-decent. And as your mentor, all that credit flows to me. So I must thank you, from the bottom of my heart. For bringing this honor onto me. What can I use to show my gratitude? Money? Praises? A fantastical story?"

"You could let me go home for the night."

"Tired already, Shaft? I'll have to order you to build up your constitution. Do you know what it means for me to have a weak - wait, what's this? Are you shaking?"

"I'm very tired, Boss."

"Ah, yes, yes, I should have seen this coming, what a stupid, _stupid _move on my part. I ought to use my wrench to take apart my traitorous hands. I should have known that my affection, so foreign and unfamiliar to your cold soul, would drain you of your energy. So stupid, so _thoughtless _I am. Will you ever forgive me for my trespasses?"

"I'll manage. Did it work, at the least?"

"How am I supposed to know? Tell me - are you still afraid of accepting what you are? The beautiful machine that is your humanity?"

"I suppose you could say that I'm lamenting _for_ humanity, in a way, Boss."

"Do you understand what your snide remarks are? I'll tell you - they're a sad story contained in just a single sentence. Because those distancing tools show that you haven't learned a thing. But you're close. Getting closer, at least. And that's what revs me up! Because what fun is it, to accomplish a large goal in one night? It robs you of the absolute pleasure that is watching the journey towards your oh so desired goal. So really, I guess you could say this is a happy story. For me, anyway. For you, I'm afraid it will be, oh, how about, an _agonizing_ tale? I'm sorry, that's a lie, I just wanted to say agonizing. Truth is, It'll be a bittersweet tale for you. One we will continue at another time, with another lesson."

"Oh, of _course, _Boss. Next time I catch you dancing, I'm sure we'll pick this _right_ back up."

"You keep thinking that. It'll make it all the sweeter when I catch you off guard for your next lesson. Now get on home so that you can actually make it to our morning meeting tomorrow. Because if you're late, I'm going to have you, hm - I know, I'll have you buy coffee for everybody there."

"What? Do you even know how little you _pay _me, Boss?"

"Irrelevant. But if you did suffer that fate, it would be nobody's fault but your own. And I'll look on in tears, because it was I who tried to warn you against it. Now get out of here so that neither of us have to end our stories in tragedy."

"Okay, okay. I'm leaving. 'Night, Boss Graham."

"Goodnight, Shaft."

Gathering up his stuff, Shaft headed alone over to the exit, where he'd parked his car. Graham had a place close enough that the man walked home, which was all the better for the underling, who at least evaded the responsibility of driving the man to and from the place. Graham kept such strange hours, that Shaft despaired at the thought of having to work around them.

He'd almost reached the door when a thought occurred to him and he turned back, to see his boss working to dismantle some piece of machinery.

"Hey, Boss?

"Yes? What is it?"

"Do you know what's like music to the human soul? The, uh, what did you call it - the electricity? To my soul, at least?"

"What's that? Don't leave me in anticipation."

"Your voice, Boss."

"…Go home, Shaft. You're exhausted."

And so he did, departing with a pained grin on his face, as he wondered just how many of these lessons it would take to break him down entirely. Because even though Graham's words may have been like electricity to him, he had no outlet for it, and so each episode left him closer to the brink of overload.

Perhaps part of him craved that, though, because as far as he could tell, he had no plans to cease coming back for more.

* * *

A/N: Sorry that I keep forgetting to update this whenever I have a new piece written. I'll try to update more often from here on though. Thanks again for reading hope you enjoyed!


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